


Small Touches

by MidnightMare



Series: bandfluff [1]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Band Fic, Cold Weather, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-04 13:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12771711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightMare/pseuds/MidnightMare
Summary: It's winter, SHINee is cold, and Minho loves Taemin.Drabble series of SHINee in their natural wonderfully human state. It'll stay 'completed,' but I'll keep adding to it every once in a while.*also posted on aff**this is completely self-indulgent*(this is also just me pretending that they all still live together)





	1. Small Touches (2min)

It was a slight nudge, nothing more.

            Just a tap against his knee. He didn’t even think it was his hand—maybe his elbow. Just a touch—brief, but tangible.

            His lips didn’t quirk, didn’t tighten. He kept the serene smile towards the camera—always towards the camera, dark eyes wide even when he was so tired he could physically feel his lids get heavier and heavier, threatening to droop any time the cameraman held up his hand for a quick cut.

            Another slight nudge, this one a bit harder. Taemin didn’t glance down, didn’t do anything but shift his crossed leg over, a minute movement that couldn’t have been caught.

            The camera kept rolling for about two minutes, plenty of time for three successive nudges, even after he’d moved away. The moment the camera shut off, his full lips folded in on themselves and he turned his neck to glare at Minho.

            “What’s up?” He was grinning at Taemin, a stupidly bright smile that lit up his whole face. Taemin wasn’t having any of it.

            “Why. Do. You. Insist on messing around during interviews?” He bit out, kicking at Minho’s shin with his heavy boots. He turned his head just to see Jinki start out the exit door, and stood to follow, feeling Minho do the same beside him, though he didn’t want to look at him just now.

            “Hey,” Minho said in a low voice, catching his elbow on their way out. “Come on, you know I didn’t mean it.”

            They stepped out into the frosty air of midmorning. The ground was slushy with half-melted snow from the night before, and there was a bitter wind—not strong, but slight like a cold knife slipped silently between ribs. Taemin squinted up at a tree hugging the smooth side of the building, boughs turned towards where the sun normally beat down. A half-squashed Starbucks cup was tossed at its base, the red a too bright berry on a grey-soaked day.

            He glanced at Minho, who looked earnest even as he tugged a long woolen scarf out of his bag and began wrapping it, loop by loop, around his neck, burying the lower half of his face in its folds. “I’ve told you before,” Taemin sighed.

 

It was the coldest winter they’d had in Seoul in recent memory.

            When that bitter wind found its way inside their dorm, despite the frequent switching up of thermostats and heavy drapes lining the windows, it didn’t stop that winter. Taemin felt cold all the time, his slight frame bundled in all manner of sweaters and his feet bearing the furriest of black fuzzy socks. It seemed to follow him everywhere. Granted, it seemed to be following everyone everywhere—it wasn’t uncommon to shuffle down the short hall into the kitchen to find Jinki cowered over the hot water kettle as it boiled, steam issuing from the top and into his face, a steamy film covering his closed eyelids and slicking his hair, hands clutched around a half-empty mug of tea just waiting to be filled again—whether because Jinki was actually hankering for it at this time of night, or because he just needed something hot to wrap his palms around was anyone’s guess.

            “IT’S TOO DAMN COLD” came from behind one of the closed bedroom doors in the hallway.

            And that was how Kibum dealt with it. Taemin slipped past Jinki’s huddle with the kettle to pull a container of rice from the fridge, using a wooden spoon to scoop a large chunk from it into a bowl and heating it up. The kettle clicked off, the steam at the top quickly beginning to dissipate, and Jinki sighed, straightening.

            “SOMEONE MAKE IT STOP.”

            A thud sounded from the opposite side of the hallway, followed by two smaller thumps and the sound of the door opening. Jonghyun, his hair sticking wildly in all directions, one sweatpant leg gathered around his calf and the other tucked under his socked heel and his comforter slung about his shoulders, knocked, bleary-eyed, on Kibum’s door—“Shut the hell up Bum, we’re all cold”—before stumbling back to bed, swinging the door shut behind him.

            Jinki, who looked terribly glassy-eyed after having his face in hot steam for several minutes, held up his fresh mug of tea with reddening fingers to his lips, breathing it in. Taemin was leaning against the countertop near the microwave, arms crossed and pouty lips brooding as he stared through the criss-crossed glass at the rotating bowl within. “You alright?”

            Taemin glanced at him with a tired expression. “No, hyung.”

            “Yeah,” Jinki agreed, sipping his tea, grimacing at the burn, taking another with tongue tingling.

            “It’s too cold to sleep,” Taemin whined. “I’m so tired but I can’t.”

            Jinki held out his mug helpfully with raised brows, but Taemin only shook his head at the tea. “I don’t like green.” He looked back to the microwave and a moment later, its customary shrieking beep went off once, twice, before Taemin quickly shut it off, looking guilty as a loud and overly-pained, overly-loud groan of irritation issued from Kibum’s door. “Oops.”

            “NOT THAT YOU’RE NOT LOUDER, BUM-AH.”

            Another door opened at the very end of the hallway. “Why is everyone awake?” Minho asked grumpily, groggily, shuffling down the hallway into the brightly lit kitchen, the wind howling beyond the windows even more obvious now that the kettle and microwave were silent again. “It’s three in the morning; we only have two and a half hours until we have to head to makeup.” He stopped at the end of the counter, slouching against the white back of a chair. His hair was mussed, still a luscious eighty-percent cacao dark shade, spilling down tanned skin and sleep-crusted eyes. Taemin turned to take his bowl out and spooning a large swallow of rice into his mouth, munching and staring intently at the short white grains.

            Jinki stared. “Were you actually asleep?”

            Minho shrugged, glancing at Taemin’s still half-turned-away side. “For a bit. Took a while though.”

            “Yeah, that’s why I gave up.” Jinki took a few gulps of tea. “At this point I’d rather be warm and tired than freezing and trying to sleep but not.”

            A sudden bout of wind gusted against the side of their apartment building, whistling over the glass at a much higher frequency, and the chill seemed to seep even deeper throughout the room. Kibum howled from within his bedroom, muffled only slightly by the burrowing of several comforters around him, and Jinki was just tipping his mug up to finish the final dregs of his tea, side-eyeing the kettle as if contemplating a third, when the three thuds from before were repeated and Jonghyun appeared in his and Taemin’s doorway again, this time holding his blanket tightly about his neck like a modern bright green and black striped cape, and dragging it across the carpeted hallway, banging on Kibum’s door once before turning the handle and letting himself in, shutting it behind him. The kettle clicked as Jinki set it to boil again, unconcerned. Taemin was still shoveling hot rice into his mouth, Minho stealing glances, as they all heard Jonghyun speak, low but fierce. “Bummie, you are going to shut up right now and go to sleep, even if I have to make you do it. Now scooch over!” Following were the creakings of a mattress and shout-whispers through thin walls, until it fell silent.

            Jinki blinked. “Well,” he said, hovering over the quickly dissipating steam, shivering at its warmth. “Now that it’s a bit quieter”—after that final burst from the rain/sleet/snowstorm (for it could have been any or all), the outside world had gone rather quiet, though colder, it was always getting colder—“I’m going to take this,” he held up a new mug of green tea, “and try to sleep for at least a minute. You two should do the same.” He shot a look at Minho, who stared with a nearly pleading gaze at Taemin’s back, and rolled his eyes. “Goodnight.”

            “Goodnight, hyung.” Taemin gently set the bowl down on the counter as Jinki brushed past him and walked off back down the hall, tapping the switch panel twice with a nail to remind them not to leave the lights on. He was chewing his last bite when Minho finally straightened and edged along the counter, closer to him, and facing him. “Hey. You still hungry?”

            Taemin shook his head, dark bangs parting gingerly in the middle. He laid his bowl in the sink, filled it with soapy water, and turned away, not speaking to Minho. “Hey, are you upset with me? For earlier?” He tugged on Taemin’s wrist.

            “No,” Taemin sighed. “Not really.” He turned back to Minho, eyes flicking up to meet his hyung’s big brown gaze, before reaching out for a hug.

            “What’s up, then?” Minho mumbled softly against Taemin’s shoulder, hands spanning, running over his slim back and resting comfortably around him, pulling his chest close. Taemin sighed, already warmer in this embrace than he had been all night.

            “I don’t know; it doesn’t matter. Let’s just go to bed.” Taemin pulled away, but trailed his hand down Minho’s arm, gripping his fingers in his own and heading towards the hallway. Minho smiled a bit, flicking the kitchen light switch off on their way past. Almost without thinking, Taemin didn’t let go of Minho’s hand until they’d already gone into his and Jonghyun’s shared bedroom across from Kibum’s.

            “Am I sleeping with you, then?” Minho asked, mischievous in tone and despite the lack of light, Taemin could just feel that glint in his eye. He groaned softly—“Shut it; you’re warm, that’s it”—before pushing Minho lightly towards his own bed on the left side of the room, climbing in immediately after shedding his socks and shuddering against the sheets that had grown cold in his absence. Minho clambered in after Taemin, tucking his lanky limbs beneath the blankets and bringing his hands up to huddle between their chests as they lay on their sides, facing each other. Taemin snuggled deeper into the mattress, a hand grabbing at his black comforter, pulling it fully over his shoulder, and his shifting foot caught a calf. Minho hissed, flinching. “Taem, your toes are freezing!”

            Taemin’s lips cracked into a smile. “Sorry.”

            “Not going to cut it; here,” Minho paused, reaching back down to the floor and grabbing the black furry socks. “I don’t care that you don’t like it, put them back on.”

             “Fine; I’m too tired to argue.”

            They settled down, shifting closer, for warmth.

            “You sure you’re not upset?” Minho whispered after a few moments, just when Taemin’s lids were slipping closed, but somehow, he couldn’t find it in himself to be irritated. He sighed.

            “No, not really. Not ‘cause you do it, I know it’s harmless. I just wish…I don’t know.” He struggled to find the words. “It’s just…different, with you.”

            Minho chuckled, light and sleepy. “You’ve said that before.”

            Taemin rolled over onto his back, staring up at the black ceiling. It was utterly quiet aside from Minho’s body so very presently there beside him, close enough to knock elbows. “I love you, you know.”

            Minho shifted closer, just centimeters from Taemin. “Yeah, I know.”

            “And that,” Taemin turned his head to find Minho’s eyes, deep pools he could just make out in the darkness, “is why it’s weird. I feel like everyone can tell, and…and that’s the most terrifying thing I can imagine.”

            Minho didn’t say anything. The silence around them was like a vacuum, sucking the still air of all feeling until all he could do was reach out a large hand to Taemin’s opposite shoulder, covered thickly in however many shirts and sweaters he’d managed to bundle himself into, before drawing him closer, brushing silky noses together and sighing against Taemin’s mouth, his dry, pillowy lips that had just covered chattering teeth outside earlier that day—the day before, that is—when they’d walked from interview to interview in icy stillness broken only by the crunching of frozen-dewed spires in pavement cracks and the van heater turned fully on, blasting only the stale cold air that was a necessity before warmth began flooding the small space. Minho had gripped Taemin’s hand between their seats then too, like he was doing now as their lips brushed together lightly before melding, sinking deeply as their mouths opened and tongues tangled in the heat they only wished would spread.

            Their lips parted, but Minho’s arm stayed around Taemin all night, the crook of his elbow becoming the maknae’s pillow in early dawn before they were woken, when the warmth had at last permitted space between them. “I love you, too, so it’s going to be fine,” Minho whispered against Taemin’s warm cheek as they mingled with the sheets, stretching before standing up to accept the cold again, and the frantic scurrying of Kibum outside their door—“Get into your OWN room Jjong, God, we have to get dressed!” and Jonghyun’s sleepy stumble across the threshold. “Aren’t we all dressed enough?” was his reply, gesturing as if to prove his point when he caught sight of Taemin and Minho sitting halfway out of bed, still very much clothed in multiple layers of socks and sweats. “Let’s just go to the studio like this,” Jonghyun grumbled, tossing his comforter back onto his own bed and glaring at the window, a pale, cold grey light barely seeping through. “God, it’s too early.”

 

It was more than a nudge.

            It was a squeeze, a fully palmed gesture that stated quite clearly, ‘I’m here, you’re here, and you’re mine,’ and Minho’s hand lingered there for far too long. The camera was still rolling.

            They were in another interview, only one of thousands, and it was a year on, the season just slipping into winter again as the cold air began to seep through every cloud and crevice, and they stayed covered in long-sleeved shirts and jackets. Minho’s hair was blacker, and Taemin’s much lighter—and pinker—but that wasn’t all that had changed.

            Minho’s hand stayed on his thigh as they both kept their eyes focused, index finger massaging his muscle in comfort, thumb just barely stroking over the bare patch of skin revealed by the frayed denim favored by them this year. Taemin shifted his hands, moved one up to brush his bangs, and he still tensed as Minho held him.

            But later that night, as Minho held him close beneath covers and a frail wind tossed rain at their window in the dark, as their leadened lids closed after a long day and they could only look forward to the next, another filled with more schedules to fill, more dances to learn, more makeup to smile through, and more interviews to sit for, Minho whispered “I love you,” and it was getting easier, just slightly, for Taemin to just believe that, without worrying what anyone else thought.


	2. Jongkey

Kibum was freezing. In that moment, he couldn’t remember ever being as numbingly cold indoors as he was now—this was a cold he firmly believed ought to stay far beyond the realm of walls and plush carpeted flooring, and oh so many bubblegum pink pillows piled at the head of his bed, utterly unused as he couldn’t even lie straight down properly without shaking. Seeing as no one else in the dorm was getting any sleep anyway, he decided to make his displeasure known, and quite loudly as well, having nothing better to do other than complain and hope he might get so tired he would drop off to sleep without noticing, without trying to get warm and cozy in bed.

            He was huddling in the center of his bed when Jonghyun pushed open the door with a sour, tired expression, his green and black comforter hanging heavily from his shoulders. It took a few steps into the room to drag it all the way past the threshold, but with the last trailing corner past the doorway, Jonghyun shut it with a sharp click, and sighed. Kibum, cocooned in at least three heavy blankets and still shaking, cross-legged in the middle of the bed, stared at his groupmate and best friend, and didn’t move. Just about to open his mouth, Jonghyun interrupted him fiercely.

            “Bummie, you are going to shut up right now and go to sleep, even if I have to make you do it. Now scooch over!”

            Kibum scowled. “Why?” They could see each other—if not quite clearly, then at least substantially, with the bright kitchen light seeping the little bit down the hallway and through the crack beneath the bedroom door, and the small string of faint fairy lights Kibum had strung up alongside his polaroid spread.

            “Because I said so and I’m tired, damn it, Kibum, move!” Jonghyun said in that softly harsh sort of way, like he was trying to keep quiet, or needed to keep quiet due to exhaustion, but Kibum always managed to get a rise out of him.

            Kibum sniffed. “Fine, then.” He gathered his cocoon of blankets around him and moved closer to the wall as Jonghyun sat on the edge of his bed, pulling the rest of his comforter up from the floor and laying down, tucking himself beneath Kibum’s white sheets. Kibum glared down at him from above, one of his blankets pulled up over his head and held from within beneath his chin. “Are you happy now? Not that it did anything; we’re still cold.”

            “Oh, just shut up,” Jonghyun groaned, reaching an arm out and pulling Kibum down by his blanketed shoulder. “Come on, cuddle with me. I’m cold.”

            “That’s exactly what I ju—”

            Kibum was cut off by Jonghyun sitting up quite suddenly, leaning back on his left palm as his right quickly unrolled Kibum from his collection of comforters and spread them all out over the top of them, before slipping back beneath all of them and curling up against Kibum’s side. “See? It’s already warmer.” Jonghyun turned on his side and flicked the thick layer of blankets better over his shoulder, and Kibum’s chest, resting his arm over Kibum’s body when he was satisfied.

            “Hmph.” Kibum grunted, rolling closer to Jonghyun. “Maybe a little.” He sighed as Jonghyun’s hand began moving in soothing circular patterns over his spine, and he brought his hands up in between their heads, centimeters from Jonghyun’s warm chest.

            It was quiet for several minutes, save for the conversation in the kitchen floating faintly through to them. Jonghyun heard Jinki-hyung say goodnight, blinking in the darkness in that sudden sort of wakefulness where you’re much too tired but your eyes stay wide for utterly unknown reasons, and he chuckled softly when he heard a hushed “damnit” slip through Kibum’s door as Jinki paused in the hallway—maybe he’d stubbed his toe on something, perhaps he’d spilled his tea; not that it mattered, because a few seconds later he heard his hyung’s door being opened and closed, and the inevitable creaking of Jinki’s bed as he climbed in—all of their beds creaked in this apartment, and the walls were so thin, each could hear the others. Jonghyun’s smile lingered on his lips as he imagined Jinki switching on a dim lamp and setting his steaming mug on the windowsill, avoiding the touch of the frosted window-glass, a shudder running across his broad shoulders before he turned to his closet and pulled on yet another sweater, puffing him up a layer more, before crawling into bed and stretching out beneath the comforter, hands wrapped warmly around his mug, the tea scalding as he gulped it down and his lids fluttered in sleepy contentment….

            “Yah, what are you smiling at?”

            Jonghyun startled to find Kibum squinting suspiciously at him, raising his head a half-inch off the pillow. “Nothing, Bum-ah; go to sleep.” He grinned easily, catching his friend’s indignantly raised arm and twining it within his own.

            Taemin’s voice issued softly from the kitchen at that moment, as he moved towards his and Jonghyun’s bedroom across from Kibum’s—“Let’s just go to bed”—before his door opened, and closed, and none of the others did.

            “Yah, Bummie, I think Minho’s sleeping in our room tonight,” Jonghyun whispered, smiling widely. Kibum squinted, one eye winking open, and grunted. “So?”

            “So that’s sweet, isn’t it?” he said, shifting down into the bed more comfortably, as one of Kibum’s legs lifted casually to drape across Jonghyun’s calves, seeking further warmth.

            Kibum thought about it for a moment, lids languidly slipping up and down over his dark sleepy eyes, before he let out a chesty chuckle. “I guess so, yeah. Maybe Taeminnie’s finally manning up enough”—here, he yawned, widely and obnoxiously—“to recognize Minho’s ridic’l’sly clear feh’l’ngs…,” he trailed off, mumbling into the pillow as he slumped against Jonghyun, succumbing to exhaustion and the warmth of his best friend’s body tucked against his own.

            Jonghyun laughed a little, lightly in the dark, his own exhaustion held at bay, for just a few more minutes. He stroked his hand up Kibum’s back one more time, his lips staying curved as he gazed at his face, so pretty and innocent, clear of expression and all those thoughts that whirled round and round Kibum’s head, too much for anyone to decently handle thinking about…sometimes Jonghyun wondered how Kibum survived with a mind always going, never resting. Jonghyun preferred straightforward answers, even if the path to them seemed convoluted.

            Careful not to jostle Kibum, who would have a conniption if Jonghyun awoke him after finally snuggling so deeply into welcome sleep, he shifted his other hand from between them and reached up over the pillows surrounding their heads, just barely catching the roll-switch of the pale-pink fairy lights with his fingertips and turning them off. He settled back down, stilling absolutely for a terrified, wide-eyed second as he felt Kibum shift, before relaxing against his body again. Jonghyun sighed, glancing up at the utterly dark ceiling, and now that everyone had gone to bed, and were presumably asleep by now, aside from him, the bitterly cold wind outside felt even louder than it had been all night.

            Soon, the clouds finally released a downpour of rain, and what had begun as a trickle barely heard against the glass turned into a steady rhythm on the side of the building and the street below, only accentuating the tumultuous feelings swirling around Jonghyun’s heart. Yes, he preferred that simple answer—didn’t we all, as human beings?—and he even knew what it was, his chest constricting in just that horribly familiar, pleasant way, whenever his mind drifted to Jinki slumped in bed, at last asleep with a quarter mug of tea left on his sill, growing cold as the street down below, as the rain that threatened sleet and Jonghyun shut his eyes against it, telling himself to enjoy this warmth with Kibum, skin to skin (or sweater to sweater), to get some rest before the hectic schedules of tomorrow, but even for someone as oriented around simple pleasures as Jonghyun, the path to Jinki’s heart seemed twisted as his messy handwriting on a page, scribbling lyrics for songs left unsung.


	3. Jongyu

“Goodnight, hyung.”

            Taemin’s soft voice wafted after Jinki as he headed down the hallway, his head ducking to wrap his lips around the rim of his steaming mug. His eyes, still warmer than they should’ve been from his persistent attachment to the kettle-steam in the kitchen, swam in the shift from bright light to the darkness of the hall, and he stumbled slightly. A sip of tea sloshed over the rim and spilled onto the carpet.

            “Damnit,” Jinki said automatically, crouching down to rub and pat awkwardly at the spot he thought it might’ve stained, sighing as he realized it needed to be cleaned. Keeping his mug carefully upright in his other hand, he rose, half-turning back towards the kitchen, only to catch sight of Minho carefully approaching Taemin.

            Jinki cursed again, under his breath, deciding it would be better not to walk straight into their quiet conversation for a wet towel and that he could just as easily (hopefully) clean the stain in the morning.

            Hearing Minho and Taemin start for the hallway, Jinki hurried to his own bedroom door, slipping inside, careful not to jostle his mug too much in hand. Clicking the door shut, he sighed and shook his head, even as a small smile played with the edges of his mouth.

            “Those kids…,” he muttered to himself, taking a sip of tea, gaze wandering around the dimly lit room. His lamp, left on earlier when he ventured out to the kitchen after tossing and turning in bed for ages, was bright against the black window it rested beside. Staring at it, Jinki could make out tiny webs of silvery frost threading along the edges of the glass pane—just the sight made him shiver, and he hastily took another mouthful of tea, swirling it between his cheeks and letting it slide slowly down his throat, warming him from the inside out.

            Setting his mug down, Jinki closed the curtains and crawled into bed, settling back against his pillow propped up at the headboard and tugging his blankets up over his raised knees to his shoulders. He hummed, glancing over at their manager’s empty bed on the other side of the room—hyung had been out, and Jinki smiled contentedly at the solitude. It wasn’t often here he was able to be truly alone, even for a night.

            Not that he always liked being alone—there were moments when he wished he wasn’t so irrevocably ‘hyung’ to all the others, like a big brother inevitably present to watch out for each of them and encourage them, to spur them on to greater efforts and revel in their success. He didn’t begrudge the huge leaps each of the others had taken—Taemin’s debut earlier that year, and Jonghyun preparing so much of the work he’d had secreted away for so very long—Jinki loved that he could cheer his groupmates on and truly believe that they were great, but sometimes, he wished—selfishly, he knew—that sometimes, especially these days when the years were growing shorter and time passed almost unthinkingly since their debut, ages ago, that they all turned back to each other, without thinking of grand plans or the stability of their futures.

            Jinki wished that, sometimes, one of the members would come to sleep with him. He knew that he was the only one sleeping without company, without the extra warmth of another body in his bed, to curl against in comfort, tonight, and he held a shiver, ignoring the cold. Sometimes he missed their old dorm, the one they had during their debut—it was cramped and small and miserable for a growing boy to be cooped up in such a tiny space night after night, when they weren’t dropping of exhaustion and numb limbs in the practice room long after dark, but there was an uninhibited sense of camaraderie between the five of them, sharing a bedroom, Jinki’s bed situated between the two paired bunks, in the midst of all of his members, grounded, there to hold each and every one of them, even when they thought they could hide near-silent sniffles and tracks of tears in pillowcases when the road of training before a confirmed debut date became too hard for anyone to bear happily. And as for those who couldn’t sleep altogether, tears or none….

            Jinki missed Jonghyun shifting around in the bunk diagonally above, his insomnia bettering him in the night yet again, crawling down the ladder, carefully, not disturbing Taemin’s haphazard bedspread. Hearing him creak the door open and slip out to the kitchen, a notebook tucked safely beneath his arm and a pen in his hand, hearing the deep, steady breaths of Minho slumped against his pillow, jaw ajar, at his left, and the breathy snorts from Taemin in allergy season at his right, hearing Kibum wake up enough to flip his pillow completely over and burrow into a single corner of it above, but never remembering doing so in the morning.

            Back then, Jinki would always listen for the heavy squeak of a chair being shifted across tile, and try to hear anything more, but he never would, dropping off to sleep before Jonghyun returned with swollen eyes and the ink-stained curve of his hand hanging limply at his side when he climbed up and at last fell into bed, sleeping nearly before he could pull the covers up.

            Jinki leaned up, reaching for his mug and touching only the cold porcelain handle before deciding he could do without tepid tea. Instead, he turned his hand to the lamp and switched it off.

 

He startled awake at the sudden opening of the bedroom door, and purposeful footfalls in his room. Jinki blinked tiredly, catching sight of manager-hyung through gummy eyelids, and pushing himself up out of bed, legs swinging out to the side, feet landing on the floor.

            “You get enough sleep?”

            Jinki groaned. “As much as I could.” His throat cracked, and he glared at the window his hyung had just uncovered, the sky beyond still much too dark.

            “Well, come on, then, we’ve got to get you all to makeup, and then we’ll be in the car for a while.” Hyung slung a bag by the foot of his bed over his shoulders, staring intently at his phone. Jinki brushed past him to the bathroom, using it and swiping his toothbrush, bristles and paste in circles over his teeth and a quick rinse, before he walked down the hallway, opening Kibum’s room to find him and Jonghyun wrapped entirely, warmly, around each other in bed, mouths slightly parted and breathing peacefully, seen only by the soft spread of light from the open door. In shadow, Jinki stood still for a moment, his lips still, before moving forward and shaking the both of them awake, a wide, sleepy grin stretching his lips.

            “Yah, come on”—Kibum moaned and attempted to bury himself beneath his pillow, movements sluggish—“yah, Kibummie”—Jonghyun slapped weakly at Kibum’s flailing, escapist arm as he hid himself beneath the blankets, blinking himself awake—“yah.” Jinki’s deepened voice stopped Kibum’s struggling, and Jonghyun slid from the bed, gathering his comforter in his arms and groaning, leaning his forehead against Jinki’s shoulder briefly before passing him on the way to his own room.

            Kibum sat up, his pillow smushed pathetically into the mattress against the mound of others and a hand sweeping his messy hair from his forehead, glaring wearily at Jinki, without malice, only exhaustion. “Time for makeup?”

            Jinki nodded, holding a hand out.

            “God damn it. I swear I only slept for about ten minutes,” he sighed, taking Jinki’s hand and landing heavily on the floor, his toes curling in the sudden cold. “Are the others ready?”

            “Don’t think so. Jonghyun’s probably woken Minho and Taemin, though. We need to hurry up.”

            Kibum chuckled. “So Minho really did sleep with Taeminnie last night. Good for them. Now get out, Jinki, I need to change.”

            Jinki left, running into Jonghyun again in the hallway as he stepped out. Jonghyun’s new slate-blue hair was ruffled, a cowlick sticking strangely out the back, and his lips were twisted in a smug sort of smile.

            A questioning look passed between them, and Jonghyun grinned wider and gestured back at his room. Jinki laughed silently behind squeezed lips as Minho appeared in the doorway, head ducked with a tiny smile as he headed towards his own room at the end of the hallway for some clothes. Taemin came out a second later, hiding a smile of his own between pressed lips.

 

“Do you think they’re finally getting together?”

            Jonghyun was looking at him with excited eyes and a mischievous twinge to his mouth, his hair expertly dried and straightened as he sat before a mirror. Jinki was situated several feet from him, before a nearly identical mirror, a makeup brush continually run along his face, the soft bristles ticklish, but long since ignored, and he shrugged. “I think they’ve already been together, honestly,” he said in a low voice.

            “Well it’s obvious they care about each other, even more than usual,” Jonghyun continued quietly. “But they’re both so shy—at least, Taeminnie is.” He shivered; the cold lingered and seeped through long sleeves and turtlenecks, sweeping inside the building with every cracked window, every opened door to let another employee scurry through.

            Jinki chewed his lip for a second—before his stylist glared at him in the mirror, brandishing balm—and shrugged. “Sure. But Minho’s persistent; he won’t be able to hide it for long, even if they’re really trying to. And why are we gossiping? Did some of Kibum rub off on you last night, all tangled up?” Jinki smirked, letting his lids drift closed for the omnipresent eyeliner. He could practically hear Jonghyun’s pout, even before he replied.

 

They were in the van for over two hours on the way to schedule after makeup, Jinki and Jonghyun, as the eldest, sharing the middle two seats with decent space, as the other three were stuffed into the backseat. Jonghyun was quick to notice that Minho lumped himself quite happily in the middle, long legs stretching out between the two middle seats and one hand—seemingly subconsciously—brushing against Taemin’s thigh, and he caught Jinki’s glance. As the engine started and music was selected by the managers, who carried their own conversation in the front, Jinki leaned across the gap, his wrist knocking against Jonghyun’s warm arm.

            “See? He’s just doing what he’s always done,” he whispered.

            Jonghyun gave him an exasperated look, rolling his eyes. “Stop all your eyes at this time~ Right now, I’m electric heart~~,” he sang under his breath, then continued in a normal whisper. “It’s more inten—”

            Jinki clapped a hand over his smug mouth, bringing his other hand up to shush against his own lips, but he couldn’t help the laugh that broke out over his face at Jonghyun’s expression, and the soft, addictive feel of his lips against his hand, his kiss against his palm, the mouth that sang and laughed and gossiped as good as Kibum, though he’d try to deny it, and expressed himself, his soul, in so many different ways, especially in those pages and pages of ink and cluttered empty ballpoints that Jinki could still hear Jonghyun go to the kitchen to use up almost every night, only now he could only imagine the black stains and tired face crumpling into his own bed, across the room from Taemin with all his own shy secrets, instead of welcoming Jonghyun back, even silently, to fall asleep against him, to wake mouth to mouth and palm to palm, sharing breath and all of the expressive words Jinki just couldn’t let out of his own lips, but desperately wanted to share his.


	4. 2min II

It was another dawn, another interview, and another long, boring car ride to it.

            Not to mention, it was freezing.

            “Hurry up, Minho,” Kibum said impatiently, hands stuffed deeply in his black jacket pockets, bouncing from one ball of his foot to the other as his teeth chattered. He glared up at the sky, only now just beginning to brighten behind heavy off-white clouds bursting with sleet or snow yet to descend, before his gaze flicked back to Minho’s backside, still unsettled. “Yah, come on—Taemin, hurry up and sit down, scooch over Minho, hurry, God, I’m freezing.”

            Minho released an annoyed huff, squishing into the middle seat against Taemin and immediately letting his long legs stretch out in front of him, sneakers propped on heels between Jonghyun and Jinki’s seats. “Get in then.” Kibum clambered in as the engine started, the door shut behind him with a final gust of cold wind swirling about the small cabin.

            “Heat heat heat heat turn the heat up,” Kibum chanted, rubbing his gloveless fingers together hastily and hahing moist warm air onto them. One of their managers in the front sighed, “You know it takes a few minutes,” even as he twisted the temperature knob to its heat limit.

            They started down the road, slick with black ice, the frozen evidence of last night’s storm. Any foliage passed was weighed down by frost just begging to be called snow, whiting out leaves and branches and stiffening grass into tiny crystallized spikes. People still walked the streets, though not many were out this early in the morning, with dawn just breaking and the cold dark grey light gradually became cold pale grey light, to white light if one stared hard enough at the thick, seamless cover of clouds hanging behind those closer. Those few out walked quickly, hunched against the wind—soft, but cruel—burrowing necks and chins and chapped lips behind tall coat collars flicked up and neutral navy and black scarves, woolen and prickly against sensitive skin.

            Breaking his gaze out the window next to Kibum, Minho straightened and glanced at Taemin pressed against his left side, a small smile appearing at once. Taemin was slouched in his seat, belt buckled over layers and layers of haphazard sweaters and the trailing ends of a wide knitted scarf, his forehead nearly touching the window glass, his eyes closed and his palms clasped together in his lap. Minho was startled to find that his hand had subconsciously found its way to Taemin’s leg sometime since they’d all loaded up, and it was still there, his tiny, steely thigh warm beneath his palm. He stroked his thumb against his jeans, briefly, before moving his hand to gently rest on Taemin’s shoulder.

            “Taemin-ah,” he whispered, leaning close. “Are you asleep?” Minho had half a mind to ask their managers to turn down the radio and shush Jonghyun and Jinki’s quiet, but flailing, conversation a few feet away, especially when Jonghyun suddenly started singing: “Stop all your eyes at this time~ Right now, I’m electric heart~~,” with far too much enthusiasm—as much as anyone could squeeze into a song sung under your breath—for a day such as this, but a second later Taemin’s eyes opened.

            “No, but I’m tired,” he said, a hint of a whine tinging his words. He straightened his neck, black bangs brushing brows thickly as he shifted, instead snuggling against Minho’s shoulder. “Didn’t get enough sleep.”

            The sudden warmth of Taemin’s head on his shoulder all too welcome, Minho edged his wandering hand to lightly grasp Taemin’s right, still settled in his lap. No one was paying attention—Jonghyun and Jinki were still whispering—or doing whatever warranted a sudden smack of Jinki’s palm against Jonghyun’s surprised mouth—and Kibum was scrolling through his phone with bleary eyes, slim wrist propped up on crossed knees. Taemin’s fingers twined with Minho’s at his touch.

            “Wasn’t warm enough?”

            Taemin looked up at Minho’s concerned face from his shoulder, shaking his head minutely with a bit of a grin. “No, I was definitely warm.” His left index finger began tracing small, indistinct patterns on the back of Minho’s hand holding his right, sending little tense waves up Minho’s arm and gutting him piece by piece, added to all the other things that made him tense up in absolute delight in Taemin’s presence. His chuckle was quiet, contented. “That’s good.”

            “I think I might sleep now,” Taemin murmured, his finger still going weakly. “How long of a ride do we have?”

            Minho looked up, eyes searching for a minute before he caught Jin-hyung’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Hyung,” he said, “how long is the drive?”

            “At least another hour,” was the swift reply, before he stared ahead at the gathering cars on the freeway, a forebodingly tight cluster not too far away. “Er—maybe two, depending on this traffic.” Jinki immediately let out a loud groan at his words, falling back into his seat and trying to stretch his legs as far as possible without disturbing Gyeongsik’s driver’s seat. “I get so stiff,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “Then just sleep, don’t think about it,” Jonghyun quipped, face unusually bright for it being so early after a night of little sleep. Jinki shot him a look.

            Minho looked back to Taemin, mouth opening, but Taemin had already fallen asleep, deep sighs pulsing his chest slowly in and out, his warm, soft breath whispering from parted pale-pink lips, nearly matching his skin tone in the cold. They caught Minho’s gaze—so pretty, so delicate, but he preferred them flushed. Taemin’s hands had fallen still, but rested warmly around Minho’s, and he smiled. He remembered last night, curled against Taemin beneath blankets in the dark, warm against his body and brief kisses before heavy sleep took over a few short hours, waking up to one arm heavily caught between Taemin’s head and their pillows and the other twined about Taemin’s waist, his shoulder aching, pressed into the mattress, but Taemin’s legs tangled with his, and his lips and eyes swollen with sleep as he awoke, both breaking into smiles as Taemin whimpered at the sudden cold in his withdrawal, wishing Minho would come back again.

            Minho smiled faintly, privately, shifting down a little in his carseat and letting his lids fall shut for a nap of his own. Kibum’s thumb slid across his phone screen, the nail clipping the glass every few moments, and Jonghyun began to sing again, ‘Romantic’ this time, Jinki shifting and creaking around in his seat, seeking a comfortable position, and the managers’ hushed conversation by the wheel, the radio with its inevitable Christmas music playing gently as snowflakes began to fall, small flecks of pure, white ice crystals spotting the windows and melting in tiny trails, tracking like tears across wind-beaten panes in the new day.


	5. Jongkey II

It was a few days later and still bitterly cold outside—even more so—as a snowstorm descended on Seoul, flurrying the air with swirling snowflakes in a high wind, pushed and piling against all the buildings and creaking tree limbs down with icy weight. Also, Kibum was sick.

            “I feel miserable,” he announced to himself when he woke up on Friday feeling more tired than he had when he’d gone to sleep late the night before. Even those few words sent his throat in searing pain, cracking from the inside out, and he grimaced, choking out a cough.

            A sudden banging resounded on his door before moving away to the other side of the hall, knocking on Jonghyun’s door—it was a general voiceless call to arms from the leader, presumably with a toothbrush wedged in his mouth, frothy white and blue foam on the verge of spilling out from between his lips. Kibum just looked at the door as if he could stare straight through it, face blanking out and eyes glazing over as he internally went through his miseries: awfully sore throat, pounding in the back of his head, pain tucked behind his eyeballs and pressing against his eyelids, a cold clammy feeling spread over his skin from sweating through the night. He shivered, and slumped back down against his pillows. Just let me die, he moaned internally.

            A few minutes passed, during which Kibum made increasingly precarious attempts to reach his tepid glass of night water on the windowsill below an ice-encrusted window, all without moving from his pillows, and another series of knocks rapped against his door. Kibum made a vague distressed sound towards that direction, flopping back down and folding his puffy duvet over his shoulder again with another shiver and curling up on his side, facing the wall. The tail end of his pink fairy lights disappeared beneath his bed, disappointingly turned off and lackluster.

            The door clicked open and swung in. “Kibum?”

            It was Jonghyun, sounding exhausted but alive and curious regardless.

            Kibum groaned softly into his cooled sheets, feeling in a melodramatic way with his inopportune sickness and the inopportune weather and inopportune misery in general and refusing to speak or turn.

            Jonghyun sighed, shuffling to the bedside and looking down at Kibum’s prone, covered form. “You okay?”

            “No.”

            Jonghyun’s brow furrowed beneath his messy bedhead fringe. He laid a hand on Kibum’s shoulder, pressing down through the feathery puffs. “Are you sick?”

            “Yes.”

            Jonghyun stared for a moment at Kibum’s unmoving head, tucked into a dent in the silk-clothed pillow, his silky brown hair fanning out from his pale moist nape. Then he blinked, twisting his mouth wryly. “Well, I guess you picked a good day for it. Schedules are canceled because of the storm.” He waited a moment for a response, but the only one he received was a pronounced shifting beneath the covers, Kibum snuggling deeper into the mattress and away from the world. Jonghyun sighed.

            “Okay, move over.” Jonghyun swung a leg up onto the bed and shoved Kibum gently towards the wall, throwing back the blankets and slipping beneath, his feet bare and cold as they sought out Kibum’s ankles. This warranted a surprised sound escaping from Kibum’s lips as his eyelids flicked open and he turned his head. “What are—” stopping there, his voice catching in a sharp pain in his throat. Jonghyun rested his head on an extra black-slipped pillow, cuddling closer and spooning Kibum, motioning for him to turn his head back and fall asleep again. He snaked his strong arms around Kibum’s waist and held his shivery, achy body close, and Kibum collapsed into the mattress, letting his bones become dead weight. He closed his eyes again and held still for a moment, his throat still twinging with harsh pain at every tiny swallow.

            Kibum turned back around, moving in his best friend’s comforting embrace. Jonghyun was almost dead asleep again, comfortably embedded, and he scrunched his nose in annoyance when he felt Kibum poke at it.

            “Whaaat. I’m helping you here, how dare you poke me,” he mumbled, the eye not pressed into the pillow squinting open. Muffled conversation drifted down the hallway, Taemin and Minho talking softly in Minho’s room at the end, into the room, Kibum’s bedroom door still open, as did the hot furious steaming of the kettle in the kitchen, Jinki probably half asleep as the rest of them, leaning against the counter, oversized sweatshirt bunching at his wrists and hips.

            “My throat hurts,” Kibum whispered painfully, wincing with every syllable. Jonghyun frowned, lip corners twitching downwards, eyes concerned as he reached up a hand, brushing it gently against Kibum’s throat. Kibum sniffed pitifully.

            “I’ll go get some tea and lozenges,” Jonghyun said, disentangling himself from Kibum’s suddenly needy embrace as Kibum whimpered at the sudden cold in his withdrawal, wishing Jonghyun would come back again. He stumbled out of the bed haphazardly, nearly tripping on the corner of a fluffy white throw that had fallen to the floor on his way out, swinging the door almost closed behind him and the cowlick that stuck out at the back of his head, bobbing slightly with movement in its slate-grey nest. Kibum shifted around in the bed, wrapping the blankets tighter around himself.

           

Jinki was half-asleep near the kettle in the kitchen, not leaning right over it but curled over the dining table with his head resting on his folded arms, glazed gaze fixed on the boiling steam. He hardly noticed when Jonghyun shuffled in, still in his pajamas too. “Thank god schedules are canceled,” Jonghyun murmured as he rummaged through a cabinet for Kibum’s favorite box of tea. Jinki groaned in agreement and thumped his head against his crossed wrists.

            “Do we have any lozenges?”

            Jinki lifted his head, a frown creasing his brow. “Lozenges?”

            “Yeah,” Jonghyun nodded. “Bummie’s sick. Sore throat. And it felt like shivers and probably aches too.”

            Jinki shook his head sympathetically, taking Jonghyun’s word without question, but not without a curling twinge in his stomach at the thought of Jonghyun and Kibum cuddling, despite their well-known friendship habits. He glanced out the window. Snow wasn’t falling quite as hard anymore, but the wind was still strong enough to move boughs, and the cold was unrelenting, seeping through the tiniest slivers in between slats.

            “Aha,” Jonghyun said a second later, turning Jinki’s head back to the kitchen where his kettle had finally reached boiling point. He slid his arms slowly off the edge of the tabletop, his head rising sleepily. Jonghyun, a small ripped-open bag of lemon mint lozenges in one hand and a mug of steeping tea in the other, quirked a brow at Jinki. “You need help?”

            Jinki groaned again and waved a hand dismissively, deciding tea could wait and face-planting again just when Minho and Taemin entered the kitchen, tousle-haired and bright-eyed. Jonghyun squinted suspiciously at their pink lips, but passed without comment.

            Kibum raised his head from his pillow when Jonghyun returned, clicking the bedroom door closed with his foot. “Minho and Taem were making out,” he announced, handing over the tea. Kibum grimaced at the heat on his tongue, searing down his throat. “If you were trying to help by burning my throat entirely off so I don’t have to feel it at all, this is perfect,” he said crossly, choosing to ignore Jonghyun.

            Jonghyun scowled and thrust the half-bag of probably months-old lozenges at him. “Scoot over.”

            “Fine.” Kibum quickly took another hot sip of tea and pushed it onto the windowsill beside his bed and rolled his back against the wall, pulling down another pillow from the puffy stack at the head of the bed. Jonghyun got in next to him, lying on his back, his broad shoulder nearly against Kibum’s chest. He turned his head and looked at him. Kibum’s face was pale, and his lids drifted gradually closed with every lazy blink lessening the gap. Jonghyun reached a hand out and touched his throat. “How is it?”

            Kibum slapped his hand away. “Horrible.” He coughed. Jonghyun grinned and fished a lozenge from the bag. He unwrapped it and shoved it into Kibum’s mouth, who glared but then relaxed into his pillow, mouth moving softly, his eyes closed. Jonghyun stared at him for a moment. My best friend is the prettiest, he thought, almost giggling out loud. But honestly. His eyes softened and traced Kibum’s handsome clear features, pale in sickness but still beautiful, even with chapped lips and crusts of sleep still clinging to his skin around his eyes. He snuggled closer, tucking Kibum against his shoulder and hugging him tightly, and the warmth between them was comfortable, loving, even with the mists hanging heavily outside the window and threatening to pervade this warmth. The clack of the lozenge against Kibum’s teeth and suckling between tongue and cheek were loud, and Jonghyun started humming, lulling Kibum into deeper rest. The clacking stopped as Kibum fell asleep entirely, the lozenge dissolving against his cheek, his arms curling between their bodies, and Jonghyun loosed him go a little, still holding him. As he fell back asleep too, a last thought curled through his mind, a thought about Jinki and nothing but this, just warmth, and history, and friendship. He wondered how it would feel to be held by him.


	6. Jongyu II

Jinki felt dead. Granted, he usually felt dead this early in the morning, but now he felt even more dead because he’d bothered to get up out of bed, only to check his phone upon reaching the kitchen to find that all schedules were canceled. He glanced expressionlessly out the kitchen window as he plopped down at the kitchen table, and sighed. It felt like he was seeing nothing but snow lately. Minimally varying shades of white and grey. It was nice, and all, but…. He shivered, and curled over the table, resting his head, a chill insisting on crawling up his arm and into his sleep shirt.

            A few minutes later Jonghyun made his way into the kitchen, humming slightly and probably subconsciously, hair messy, still in loose pajamas that flapped around his ankles. Jinki hid a smile in his elbow. Jonghyun looked over as he rummaged through the cupboards, and Jinki’s stomach flipped a little when they made eye contact—ridiculous.

            While in the kitchen, Jonghyun invariably made small talk, despite his own exhaustion, and Jinki was hardly able to keep up, his head starting to swim. He knew he should’ve eaten more last night, but collapsing into bed had sounded way more inviting than a hasty cup ramyun…. The kitchen furniture beneath him was suddenly terribly comfortable, despite the hard wooden edges cutting into the inside creases of his knees and the unyielding surface of the table, and Jinki was almost tempted to ignore his rumbling stomach in favor of dropping off into unconsciousness again, just there. Thank god for days when he didn’t have to be the responsible one.

            And that defeated thought made him raise his head, just for a moment.

            Jonghyun, a small ripped-open bag of lemon-mint lozenges in one hand and a mug of steeping tea in the other, quirked a brow at Jinki. “You need help?”

            Perhaps a split-second later, in an alternative universe in which everything worked out flawlessly for Jinki with little effort on his part simply because everyone got a happy ending—if only—Jinki would have groaned helplessly and flopped into a sloppy hug, draping his slightly larger body around Jonghyun and holding him close to his chest while Jonghyun responded in kind, his arms wrapping around Jinki’s waist, palms pressed against the small of his back and his chin dipping into the curve between Jinki’s neck and shoulder….

            But then Minho and Taemin came in, each looking thoroughly kissed and much too pleased about it, and Jonghyun skipped off to care for Kibum. This did nothing for Jinki’s mood, and he released another prolonged groan as he slumped back against the hardwood ribbed back of the chair, brows creasing in whiney discomfort, lips jutting out in a small pout. Minho and Taemin glanced at each other warily, but it was only Minho who spoke.

            “Hyung?” he said, venturing over to the table and prodding gently at Jinki’s shoulder. “You okay?”

            Jinki slit an eye open, and cracked his lips to show a tired smile. “Oh, yes, fine, just dead inside.”

            Minho waited patiently for several long moments as Taemin hovered around the fridge, wondering if Jinki would go on at all, but when he didn’t, Minho decided to just let it be, patting his shoulder with a full hand…for the most part. He managed to take a few steps away and join Taemin before the cool air of the refrigerator, his back to Jinki—for only a few seconds, though, before he turned back with a worried glance. “Hyung?”

            Jinki sighed. “I’m fine Minho-yah. Promise.” He dragged himself up from the table and held up his arms in a half-shrug. “See, look, I’m up and everything. Just don’t know what to do today, I s’pose.” Minho caught the fleeting look between himself and Taemin, and his chest simultaneously warmed at the acknowledgement, and ached. Even if he’d become far more talkative and playful in recent years as he emerged from his shell, he was still the most observant one. Jinki had feelings for Jonghyun, and wished to be as close to him as Minho was free now to be with Taemin, at least in private—and Minho privately felt that Jonghyun felt the same way, but why on earth should he have the right to meddle with his hyungs?

            Oh, he thought inwardly, sighfully, as Jinki let out another unconsciously and wandered over to a cupboard, bed-hair positively drooping in moroseness, there were plenty of reasons.

 

“You can’t possibly want to stay in there all day, can you?”

            It was later, around mid-day, after Jonghyun had finally left Kibum’s room after their little nap and Jinki had slumped back off to his room, probably curled up with some poetry collection all alone, and Taemin had shooed Minho away saying he didn’t need Minho distracting him when there were “interesting new techniques to study!”. Besides, Minho had a plan ready to be implemented. He needed Kibum busy. He needed Kibum too busy to order Jonghyun around for the rest of the day.

            Kibum slit an eye open dangerously from the peak of his fluffy pillow-mountain, limbs warmly entrapped in piles of thick blankets and a warm mug just within reach. He coughed for emphasis.

            “Why wouldn’t I?”

            Minho looked at him exasperatedly. Kibum shrugged, the movement minimal beneath all the feathers and cloth sinking him into the bed, but his eyebrows held the same effect.

            “I’ve got everything I need right here. Jjong even gave me lozenges.” He nudged with a knee, the ripped bag tossed to the side on his bed.

            “They’re stale.” Minho intoned.

            “Who cares?”

            “Look,” Minho said patiently, “you’re sick, and can’t move, and you know you’re going to get bored quickly like that, because there’s only so much you can sleep comfortably wrapped up so tight, and Taemin’s off on one of his YouTube dance playlist kicks so he’ll be annoyed if I bother him for at least a few hours, and I can’t go for a run in this weather, I’ll turn into an icicle, so just come out and watch a movie with me.”

            Kibum narrowed his eyes. “There’s something else you want. Spill.” He wiggled his shoulders comfortably into his pillows and might’ve crossed his arms under the blankets. “And just so you know, I might like you better as an icicle.”

            Minho sighed.

 

“What do you want to watch?”

            “I don’t know,” Kibum said, his face bored as he leaned back into the sofa, one of the blankets from his bed—polka-dotted—still wrapped securely around his shoulders. “What do you want to watch?” He swung his legs up from the ground and propped them across Minho’s lap, who only let annoyance flash across his face briefly before turning back to the television. Scrolling.

            “But seriously,” Minho said a minute later, having flicked through another entire recommendation list on Netflix, the black background mocking at the indecisive end. “What do you want to watch?” He turned to look at Kibum, pressing his lips together at the non-answer, a flex in his jaw and just managing to keep from rolling his eyes, to see Kibum rolling his eyes, head falling back.

            “Fine, just give it to me,” Kibum said, snatching the remote away from Minho’s hand and puffing his cheeks in a deep exhale, flicking through the screen with something like a fierce determination. A few minutes later he put something random on, just noise, really, and Minho relaxed back into the couch and stuck out his lower lip a bit, wishing it was Taemin cuddled into his side rather than Kibum’s fidgety feet.

 

“Hyung?”

            Jinki looked up from his bed, where he was sitting on the straightened covers with knees up and a book propped against them, back pressed into several pillows piled against the wall, as Jonghyun cracked the door open and slipped inside. His eyebrows raised slightly, and he slid a bookmark between the pages and let the book fall closed, sitting up so his legs crossed, his hands finding his kneecaps. “What’s up?”

            Jonghyun looked unusually apprehensive as he closed the door and neared the bed, sitting at the end and bringing his legs up to match Jinki’s crossed position. He looked down, finding a stray thread in his sweats’ ankles to pick at, formulating his thoughts. Then he decided to hell with the thoughts—Minho earlier had finally told him straight that if he just kept thinking about it he’s going to stay like this, forever pining, as Minho himself had done for years. He opened his mouth, his lips wide and pink and glossed with saliva as he licked at them nervously again and again, and his eyes bright and brown and encouraging. Jinki just looked back at him, slightly bemused.

            “I—,” Jonghyun began, before breaking off and widening his eyes further, almost pleadingly, like he was willing Jinki to get his message telepathically. Jinki just looked back at him.

            Jonghyun was quickly realizing that everything he knew about wooing simply wasn’t going to work with Jinki, because they’d known each other for far too long and had honest-to-God seen each other at the best and worst. His hand came up to brush distractedly at his own bangs, prolonging the silence.

            “Yeees?” Jinki finally said with an extended questioning lilt.

            Jonghyun hummed. Then he looked up at Jinki, his posture slumping more than usual. He fiddled with his grey sweatshirt cuffs and folded his lips.

 

Jinki was having a very difficult time keeping still. As soon as Jonghyun had edged onto his bed and looked at him with those huge ridiculously puppy-like eyes beneath his messy fringe, all he wanted to do was envelop him in a large warm hug. But he hadn’t. Even just now, when Jonghyun seemed content to keep the air still for a little, Jinki restrained himself, waiting patiently, as he had always done for any of them, almost unbearably hyung-like, waiting for a problem to be presented so he could do whatever to help.

            The seconds ticked by and the both of them sat there on the bed, Jinki trying subtly to catch Jonghyun’s eye as Jonghyun resolutely avoided his direct gaze, shifting his weight on the bed, plucking at his sweats. It was quiet, but it wasn’t awkward, not really, even if Jonghyun seemed a bit tense.

            A sudden “HAH!” broke the stillness of the room, coming from down the hall—a note of triumph from Taemin shut away in his bedroom. Both Jonghyun and Jinki chuckled lightly, and they could hear irritated grumbling drifting from the living room, mostly Kibum’s voice, Minho’s murmur soft, probably redirecting their attention to the television.

            “Any idea what he’s doing?” Jinki asked, a grin about his lips. This was the break he’d been looking for.

            Jonghyun shrugged. “I think Minho said he was on his laptop.” Jinki just shook his head, stretching his arms. His knee nudged the book he’d been reading, and Jonghyun latched onto it immediately.

            “What are you reading, hyung?”

            Jinki looked down, blinking and smiling briefly. “Just some poetry collection. Broadening the mind, y’know.”

            Jonghyun scooted closer, using his ankles as leverage on the comforter, sidling up to Jinki’s knees as Jinki picked up the book again and let it fall back open to his bookmark, a third of the way through, and drifted light fingers down the page to indicate the verse he’d been on. Jonghyun had just determined that today was not the day he was going to confess his real raw feelings—it just wasn’t enough, the amount of available romantic gestures, confined as they were to the apartment if they didn’t want to be frozen stiff, was much too lacking, and this—this was enough, he decided, as he leaned his chin into his palm, his elbow on his knee and against Jinki’s, leaning over Jinki’s lap and hearing his voice just next to his ear, feeling his warm honeyed breath against his collar, nodding along as Jinki read off one of his favorite verses, a smile touching his pink mouth as he felt rather than saw Jinki smile broadly next to him as he turned, eyes bright as he looked for agreement…but decisions aren’t always definite and he turned his head as well and his fingertips were against his cheek and he could see as Jinki glanced at them before flicking his gaze to his lips, and he could’ve kissed him right there, all of Jinki in his softness, his hair rumpled and his sweats huddled around him, the half-mug of tea on the bedside table almost certainly cold by now, the book lowered, the door closed away from Taemin and Minho and Kibum, his fingertips which moved from his own cheek to Jinki’s warm flushed one.

            So he did.


	7. 5HINee

It was getting a bit cramped there, on the sofa, but Minho didn’t dare move his legs. His feet were tingling dreadfully, and his torso was starting to strain from the odd curve he had it in, reclining sideways against the arm of the sofa, elbow propped up and hand resting at his head.

          Kibum, on the other hand, was terribly comfortable, having stretched leisurely about this way and that as they let the episodes play on automatically. It had begun snowing harder a while ago, the flakes fat and falling fast, casting stray shadows along windowsills. With it came a slight chill—Minho wondered seriously if the company building budget should be redirected from excess security to heating—and the eventual ending up of Kibum’s head on Minho’s lap, curled up beneath three blankets and on top of another that, despite the chill that lingered over his shoulders, were beginning to make Minho’s legs feel almost uncomfortably warm. And numb.

          Minho shifted his thighs and let his head flop back over the top of the cushion behind him, stretching his long neck in the credits break between episodes. He felt Kibum’s head move on his lap, but didn’t think anything of it until a jabbing finger caught one of his Adam’s apple lumps.

          “Yah!” he shrieked (deeply), knocking Kibum’s hand away and glaring down at him. “What was that for?” he rubbed at his reddening neck and gave a little raspy cough.

          “Didn’t mean to freak you out.” Kibum rolled his eyes at the wounded look Minho was giving him. “Really. They’re just so weird. Why do you have two?”

          Kibum was the only one in this dorm who could get Minho feeling so unnecessarily aggravated within an unnecessarily short space of time. He drew in a breath. “How am I supposed to—"

          A sudden “HAH!” broke the stillness of the room, coming from down the hall—a note of triumph from Taemin shut away in his bedroom. Minho broke off, glancing down at Kibum, who shrugged, shoulders still very comfortably snuggled into the nest of knitted blankets piled on Minho’s thighs. Minho now couldn’t feel anything from his toes.

          “Okay,” he said. “That’s my cue to stretch—” he gently grasped Kibum’s slight shoulders and deposited him comfortably back on the cushion as he got up, sharp tingles spiking up his shins “—and be an encouraging boyfriend for whyever he’s so excited.” Despite the matter-of-fact tone, he couldn’t help a blushing smile from spreading over his face. Kibum, who had just opened his mouth to protest this unjustified abandonment, even working up a coughing fit in the back of his sore throat to provoke great pity, softened all at once, his eyes melting beneath his severe brows, his lips turning up at the corners. He brought a slim hand up to his newly caramelized bangs to tug at the soft strands, almost bashful, just for a moment. “Go on then,” he said then, dismissively, and tilted his chin toward the hall. “I’ll just be here with the t.v. on my own. Even though you were the one who dragged me out here from my comfy bed in the first place.”

          Minho flashed a quick grin that didn’t quite hide the small crease of worry in his forehead, but moved away regardless. He glanced back before pushing through Taemin’s door to see the back of Kibum’s head, nestled into the arm of the couch, having completely taken over Minho’s warmed spot.

 

“You okay?”

          Taemin jerked at Minho’s sudden voice, having missed the door opening with his earbuds still tucked in. He looked up from where he stood in front of the small desk he shared with Jonghyun, where their laptops lived snugly side-by-side. Taemin’s was open to YouTube, on a playlist of recent fanvideos, all focused on him. Minho noticed this and couldn’t resist a playful jibe—“Feeling a bit conceited today?” His voice remained warm, and Taemin couldn’t help the full-lipped grin he gave in return, with a small shake of his head.

          “I’m just reviewing. It’s easier to catch mistakes when others film it.”

          Minho tugged both white earbuds out of Taemin’s ears and dropped them on the desk, settling his hands warmly on Taemin’s hips. Taemin glanced back as Minho rested his chin on his shoulder, rubbing slightly against the black cotton of his long-sleeve. “What was that from before?”

          “Oh,” Taemin said, his cheeks pinking. “Nothing, really. I just got excited when I realized that I’m not screwing up that one turn anymore.” He ducked his head, his fringe hanging over his brow.

          “Good job,” Minho said lightly, pressing his nose to Taemin’s neck. “That’s been bothering you for a while, hasn’t it?”

          Taemin shrugged, suddenly releasing his bottom lip as he realized he’d begun to chew on it. “Anyway.” He closed his laptop and turned, hooking his wrists together behind Minho’s warm waist. He shivered at the contrast—he hadn’t realized how cold the room was in his distraction—and squinted at Minho’s odd little smile and hummed, leaning up to press what was meant to be a quick kiss to his mouth. It wasn’t often Minho couldn’t persuade him to linger, though.

 

Jinki sat back, stunned, against the pillow he had placed upright and sideways along the wall behind his bed half an hour ago, to provide maximum comfort for his back as he read. Thinking about that right now seemed half-silly, but his head was in a bit of a scramble. Jonghyun was still cross-legged in front of him, a rather nervous look in his eyes—oh, I should fix that.

          “Um.”

          Jonghyun ducked his head, his cheeks flushing now, after the fact. He folded his lips over themselves, just refraining from squirming excitedly at the lingering feeling of their kiss, and peeked through his slate-blue fringe. “Was that…maybe, okay?” he asked hesitantly, edging toward regret at the rather lackluster reaction. Jinki sat up again, a frantic expression crossing his face.

          “Of course!” he blurted out, hands reaching automatically toward Jonghyun’s, gripping both of his and bringing them to rest between their socked crossed feet. “I just.” He paused. “Need a moment to process.”

          Jonghyun nodded, holding Jinki’s hands warmly and letting his shoulders relax. The book of poetry was still there, slightly off to the side, and their eyes wandered over its cover, full of black and white light and shadowplay. “Maybe, um,” Jonghyun spoke again, quietly. “I could read a verse or two?” His thumbs gently rubbed over Jinki’s along with the suggestion. Jinki smiled widely and nodded. He took a deep, settling breath, his mind racing far too fast.

          As Jonghyun read—he’d opened the book at random with his left hand, his right still warmly entwined with Jinki’s left—Jinki let his eyes wander to the window, where evidence of the ongoing snowstorm was still being blown continuously against the panes. The buildup of greyish white frost was increasing along the outer sill, little hillsides forming in the crevices like miniature slopes to sled down in snowglobes. Not much could be seen beyond a silvery greyness and the snowflakes that skidded into rain across the glass, unable to keep each discrete shape, and Jinki shivered when Jonghyun moved carefully up to his knees and shuffled on them over to Jinki’s side, keeping their fingers laced even as he curled up alongside him, still reading the poem he’d chosen, soft lilts and lyrical utterances falling smoothly from his lips, his pink lips still warm and creased and with the softest bit of shine in the sunlight that got through those stormclouds, transforming from golden rays to silver casts that made Jonghyun look almost ethereal, his skin paling and his hair somehow tinting more blue. Jonghyun looked over at Jinki then, catching him in the midst of a stare completely removed from the window focus, and smiled as he finished reading the poem.

          “Are your thoughts back in order?” Jonghyun really wasn’t sure how he was able to remain so calm throughout this. As if their everyday roles were reversed, Jinki was left speechless and floundering and Jonghyun felt oddly resolved, as if nothing could change this sudden determination to confess. When Jinki nodded slightly, he grinned. “Okay. I’m going to say this then—”

          “Wait,” Jinki interrupted. “Just…let me, first.” He paused. “But first…can you kiss me, again?” He held in a shudder, almost expecting a no.

          But of course Jonghyun couldn’t say no—he leant in, bringing their hands, still palm to palm and fingers woven, to Jinki’s knee still crossed, shouldering into Jinki’s space, the warmth of his shirt and the slight twinge in Jonghyun’s knees from the seams in Jinki’s muted quilt, and Jonghyun dropped the book as their lips pressed together for the second time, almost shocking in warmth compared to the rest of them, and Jonghyun could feel the slightest prick of stubble along Jinki’s chin and it cracked a grin, even as the both of them ignored a sudden outburst somewhere in the rest of the dorm, spreading his lips as Jinki’s chased them, moving together languidly as Jinki’s head rested against the wall, the textured lavender paint suddenly prominent against Jonghyun’s fingertips. They parted again, and Jinki’s eyes fluttered open while Jonghyun’s stayed closed, feeling Jinki’s warm breath against his eyelids, filming them like the kettle’s steam, seeing warm darkness sparked by blue and silver and snowflakes streaking into rain after collision with glass panes, with the pavement below, with the grey river collecting them all into a flowing mass that never seems to end. He almost thought that, if he tried to fall asleep just then, he might fall quicker than he’d ever hoped to.


	8. Onkey

Minho, Kibum, and Taemin were certainly not eavesdropping outside Jinki’s bedroom door. They never had any intention to, and in any case, would not have had the opportunity to, had it not been for the sudden spout of stormsnow and a rampaging wind (apparently unnoticed by the occupants within the room) that completely knocked out the power of their apartment building. Kibum had noticed first when the television inconveniently went black as he was getting ready to doze off in front of it, locked in a languorous mood not helped by his sickness, nor by his loneliness. His refrain of “…guys?” eventually brought Minho and Taemin hastily coming out of Taemin’s room, Minho with furtive eyes shifting every which way to avoid Kibum’s piercing gaze at their mutually rosy mouths. He gestured at the television, and then shuddered at the same time as Taemin, both reaching for the blankets still piled around Kibum’s legs.

          “Heat’ll be out, too, then,” Minho sighed as Taemin snuggled up against Kibum and tucked his feet between Kibum’s shins. “Tonight will not be fun.”

          This led them, moments later, to Jinki’s room to apprise him (and apparently Jonghyun as he was nowhere else to be seen) of the situation, only to hear Jonghyun’s voice—“Okay. I’m going to say this then—”

          Minho sucked in a noisy breath and held it, eyes wide and shining in the dim hallway. The next moment was unnaturally quiet, until Jinki’s soft voice floated out—“Can you kiss me, again?”

          At this, Taemin let out a squeal desperately stifled beneath Kibum’s quick palm. Kibum mouthed furiously, silently, a flush rising along the back of his neck and his ears turning pink, until Taemin whitened his eyes innocently, promising not to make any more noise. Minho folded his mouth tightly together and setted his hands on Taemin’s shoulders to usher all of them further along the hallway wall, away from the door beyond which all was quiet, suggestively so.

          “We should probably…leave them alone for a few minutes,” he hissed, gesturing back to the living room. Kibum wasn’t having any of that, though.

          “This is so much more important than their make-out session, I’m sorry,” he said, eyes glinting. Minho reached a hand up to feel Kibum’s forehead, only to have it smacked away. “Yah, Kibum-ah…,” he trailed off, glancing at Taemin, who offered no help beyond shrugging and aligning his back with the wall, staying clear out of the line between them.

          “Isn’t this…sort of,” Minho began again, quietly, hesitantly. “A little bit…rather, a long while coming?” he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth in an unusually youthful gesture, eyes fixed on Kibum’s face. Almost as if he were searching for confirmation.

          Kibum held the blanket draped over his shoulders to his chest, the knit-tasseled ends wound tightly around his hands. The wool was rough between his fingers and along the tired creases of his palm. He opened his mouth for a moment to lick at his pale lips.

          Just then, shuffling came from Jinki’s door, and it swung open. Jonghyun’s bright face appeared in the wedge of silver light streaming from Jinki’s window out into the hallway, blushing, mouth stretched too wide to show his teeth. “Is everything okay out here?”

          Kibum closed his lips abruptly, nodding. The corners of his mouth tightened into a close-seamed smile, his cheekbones prominent beneath overly bright eyes. Minho glanced quickly between them, hurrying to say that the power had gone out. He waved a hand toward the kitchen window down the hall further gusts of snowy wind slammed into the side of the building, and Taemin shivered next to him. Jonghyun frowned.

          “No heat?”

          Minho looked helplessly at Jinki, who had just appeared in the doorway as well, lightly pushing Jonghyun out into the hall to make room. He threw up his hands, only to have Taemin catch one of them on its way down, interlocking their fingers. Taemin’s palm was almost too warm compared to the shiver crawling its way down Minho’s shoulders.

          “No electricity…even for the kettle.” Jinki said miserably. Jonghyun touched his hip in comfort.

 

It was several hours into the early-fallen night. Kibum was huddled up in his bed, not coughing nearly as much as he had that morning, but with searing pain soaring down his throat with every swallow. He forced another down, hard, saltwater pricking at the very corners of his eyes as that rough pain collided with the pulsing in the back of his head, and just behind the roots of his eyeballs. He wished his pink fairy lights could work even without electricity. He liked focusing on the soft rosebud spheres reflecting off the eggshell walls all around his bed at night, trailing around them as if in a dance amidst torchlight, or between fireflies. His eyes fluttered shut, and he imagined being back at home. The stark smell of seawater wafting up the stairs as his grandmother came home, letting her gear off her shoulders and slipping into house shoes, hoisting a bag of clattering shellfish to the counter. The scuttle of long-nailed paws dancing around the kitchen for food, maybe following his grandmother up the stairs to his room, scratching swiftly at his door, the door opening and allowing a slice of warm light, his grandmother’s figure, his poodles pouncing on his covers, climbing over his legs, one of them settling along his leg and the other, circling on his chest in a deep rumbling warmth, curled fur pressed to Kibum’s nose and mouth, tickling, comforting. Her voice, the sound of her showering, the clangs of steel pots down in the kitchen, the faucet running. Chopsticks set out alongside bowls and spoons. His parents arriving home to shrill yips. Comme des and Garcons propelling themselves off him with padded bounds to the floor. He pressed his palms to the sheet and moved to get up, but found that he couldn’t. He was plastered to the bed, and the fairy pink lights he’d had strung up suddenly burnt out, without a spark or a sound, and his bed felt like it was tilting, the floor gone liquid, rocking. The string of lights fell from the walls all at once vanished into grey nothingness surrounding him, and clung to him, waxed plastic lines draping over his chest and his eyes, the little bulbs, black wires silent inside cold glass, lying pointedly against his flesh. The bed rocked again softly, and a third time, more violently, shaking his whole body. “Bum. Bum-ah.”

          He blinked awake. It was Jinki there, his face hovering above Kibum’s in a weak blue haze from the emergency glowstick hanging from a lanyard around his neck. His hands were cupped warmly together around Kibum’s left arm, and he kept them there as Kibum reoriented himself. “Still no power?” Kibum asked hoarsely, sitting up. Jinki pushed his hair back but kept a hand on him, slipping it down to grasp Kibum’s hand.

          “Yeah. I wanted to check on you though. I’m sorry for waking you, but you haven’t eaten anything at all, and you’re sick. You should better keep your strength up.”

          Kibum nodded. He blinked away sleep, pulling his hand from Jinki’s to scrape away the crust at his eyes. Jinki sat down at the edge of his bed.

          “We haven’t got many options,” Jinki was saying lightly. “The others are just eating cold rice and some leftover side dishes we found in the fridge—we figured we shouldn’t let them spoil by just leaving them there.” Kibum grimaced at the idea of refrigerated rice, but got up anyway, swinging his legs into the space beside Jinki and standing.

          “Hey, are you—” Jinki paused as Kibum turned to him. They stood together alongside his bed in the semidarkness, only the blue glowstick between them giving wavery shape to their faces. Jinki reached out again to grasp Kibum’s hand, and stroked his thumb over his blueish knuckles, pale in the hued cast. He looked down at their hands, and Kibum did too, both of them just breathing quietly. “I haven’t spent a lot of time with you, lately,” Jinki said. “I’m sorry for that.”

          Kibum shrugged, the movement small and only barely moving the draping folds of his loose heather shirt. “We’ve all been busy.”

          “You’re nice, Kibum.”

          He glanced up at Jinki quizzically. Jinki didn’t say anything more, but stepped closer and gathered Kibum up into his chest, holding his torso warmly, hands resting against his shoulder blades, relaxing under the weight as Kibum hugged him back, tucking his face into Jinki’s warm shoulder, his cowlicked hair waving over Jinki’s chin, his cold sockless toes edging toward Jinki’s warm woolen fluffs, a heavy sigh—and Kibum himself couldn’t tell quite how heavy, but Jinki could feel it all the way through his chest—leaving him, a slight cough following. “Are you all out of cough drops?” Jinki asked in a low voice as he smelled lemon and a touch of mint. “Not yet.” Kibum pulled away then and reached back for the bag stuffed somewhere between his haphazard comforter and the wall. “What I really need is chapstick though, my mouth is all dry. My face, too, ugh, where’s my moisturizer.”

          He turned quickly away from Jinki and started rummaging blind over his dressing table, trying to feel out the shapes of bottles, a little whine escaping when his hand caught the cold glass of the mirror. Jinki chuckled and brought over his glowstick, holding it up by the end over the table, picking out Kibum’s chapstick first out of the mess and handing it to him. “How are you beautiful even when you’re sick.”

          Kibum shrugged, rubbing coconut oil balm over his mouth, the press of it bringing them the slightest flush darker, and muttered, “I still think I’m not,” almost benignly, as if it no longer mattered, his careful hands finding his tub of shea butter and twisting open the silvery cap that shimmered like a seascale in the blueish light still held up by Jinki, who always held all the light between the five of them, even when his own smiles became tired or when his own happiness needed to be hidden far beyond anything he showed the others, because those red-running channels inside his chest rubbed raw well enough on their own to be revealed to the people he’d taken on as his own family and he still never knew quite what to do when one of them overflowed.

          He picked up a small handtowel slung over Kibum’s mirror and handed it to him to dab away the excess moisture, and shuffled them both toward the door, beyond which the other three were arguing over whether it was better to have near-freezing rice or raw ramyun noodle bricks to eat until the electricity powered back on, the three of them huddled together in a half-circle in the middle of the living room floor, a ritualistic star of blue and purple glowsticks standing on their fat ends amongst the side-dishes on white ceramics between them. Jinki felt his heart stutter when Jonghyun looked up, silver chopsticks just touching his warm bottom lip, cold rice bowl in hand, and eye-smiled at them together, Jinki tugging Kibum along by the hand, whispering almost only to himself, even if Kibum over-heard it, “I think the same way about myself, but somehow…,” and pulling him down to sit cross-legged between himself and Jonghyun, bumping Taemin’s shoulder to get him to pass the final dregs of watery beansprouts as Minho got up to pull more knitted and woolly blankets out of the hamper in the corner of the room, letting them fall warmly over Jinki’s and Kibum’s shoulders and trailing to stir with those of the others.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by SHINee being wonderful with each other?  
> *originally posted only on asianfanfics starting 12/20/2015*


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